“He says he didn’t do it.”

“Do what?”

“Shoot Mr. Webb.  And I know he didn’t if he says he didn’t.”

The grave eyes of the young man met hers.  “But Dad Wrayburn was there.  He saw the whole affair.”

Pauline brushed this aside with superb faith.  “I don’t care.  Jim never lied to me in his life.  I know he didn’t do it—­and it makes me so glad.”

The young man envied her the faith that could reject evidence as though it did not exist.  The Jim Clanton she had once known would not have lied to her.  Therefore the Jim Clanton she knew now was worthy of perfect trust.  If there was any flaw in that logic the sweet and gallant heart of the girl did not find it.

But Billie had talked with Dad Wrayburn.  He had ridden out and gone over the ground with a fine-tooth comb.  Webb had been killed by a bullet from a forty-four.  Of his own knowledge Prince knew that Clanton was carrying a weapon of this caliber only three hours before the killing.  There was no escape from the conviction of the guilt of his friend.

The sheriff walked back to the hotel where he was staying.  On the way his mind was full of the young woman he had just left.  He had never liked her better, never admired her more.  But, somehow—­and for the first time he realized it—­there was no longer any sting in the thought of her.  He did not have to fight against any unworthy jealousy because of her interest in Clanton.  Of late he had been very busy.  It struck him now that his mind had been much less preoccupied with the thought of her than it used to be.  He supposed there was such a thing as falling out of love.  Perhaps he was in process of doing that now.

Bud Proctor, a tall young stripling, met Prince on the porch of the hotel.

“Buck Sanders was here to see you, sheriff,” the boy said.

Since the days when he had been segundo of the Snaith-McRobert outfit Sanders had declined in the world.  Like many of his kind he had taken to drink, become bitten with the desire to get rich without working, and operated inconspicuously in the chaparral with a branding iron.  Much water had poured down the bed of the Pecos in the past three years.  The disagreement between him and Clanton had long since been patched up and they had lately been together a great deal.

Prince went up to his room, threw off his coat, and began to prepare some papers he had to send to the Governor.  He was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Sanders opened at the sheriff’s invitation, shoved in his head, looked around the room warily, and sidled in furtively.  He closed the door.

“Mind if I lock it?” he asked.

The sheriff nodded.  His eyes fixed themselves intently on the man.  “Go as far as you like.”

The visitor hung his hat over the keyhole and moved forward to the table.  His close-set eyes gripped those of the sheriff.

“What about this reward stuff?” he asked harshly.